


Brooding

by meat



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: ...Kinda, HEED THE SQUICK TAG, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Major Character Injury, Mercy Killing, Other, Sparklings, Squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7740670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meat/pseuds/meat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A commission for general_grey on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [general_grey](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=general_grey).



Garrus-9 was built on a near-universal backdrop of forewarning. 'Near'- meaning that, to races other than Cybertronians, the red-tinted sky of the planet would have served as an adequate summary of the war and bloodshed that took place on the ground. Cybertronians bled pink, and this, combined with the fact that most individuals who came to Garrus-9 didn’t necessarily have time to think about landscapes and their greater meanings, amounted to the forewarning going unnoticed. After all, the largest and most fortified of all Autobot prisons didn’t need that to be intimidating. Garrus-9 didn’t need to be anything but itself. Even showing the scars of countless battles defended, Garrus-9’s appearance could strike a unique fear into the sparks of its residents. The outer features of Garrus-9 had become a topic of careful consideration for one such resident:

The warden.

It had become gratingly repetitive about a month ago. There wasn’t a lot to focus on here that didn’t make things worse; focusing on himself only seemed to exacerbate his pain. All of his good memories here involved people that were dead or ambiguously dead, and that was what drove him to think of Garrus-9 itself. It was about as effective as he’d expected; this meaning, in simple terms, that the past few months of his life had been a living hell.

Fortress Maximus barely felt alive. Moments of clarity amid the near-constant dissociation had grown increasingly rare. Most of the time, it seemed like he was stuck somewhere between crippling anguish and once-pleasant memories of Garrus-9’s surface. They had become as grating as everything else here, but familiarity gave them a unique edge. Garrus-9 had always been rough and battle-worn, but seeing it in such a state of destruction served to twist the metaphorical knife jammed into his spark.

It was hard to find a place for himself in the midst of the chaos. He was lower than the lowest garbage Overlord currently employed, and yet he held the most invaluable information that Overlord could ever imagine. Aequitas was worth more than any individual. Aequitas was the guiding hand by which Maximus made every decision, by which he decided every word that left his mouth. ‘Vessel of Aequitas’ may have been a nice phrase to repeat in his own head, but in practice, he felt like a long obsolete tool.

Overlord broke him down, slowly but surely. Over weeks that each seem to stretch the length of an eternity, Maximus was driven closer to the edge, and each time it was with silent witness. Snare- the Predator surveillance officer that had attempted (and, had Overlord not arrived, would have failed) to overtake Garrus-9 with his unit- was a constant watcher in the spectacle that Maximus’ life had become. Maximus didn’t dare consider Snare’s presence a form of companionship. The times that Snare became directly involved, whether assisting in his torture or simply observing it in person (albeit from the sidelines), harbored nothing in him except a faint sense of familiarity.

Snare was not his companion. Snare was not his friend. Snare was nothing but another Deception playing a role in his torment; and, eventually, Snare took an even more central role in that. Snare became paramount in Maximus’ upkeep- Overlord could never be bothered with things so trivial, even as he understood the importance of keeping Maximus alive. Cue Snare’s entrance.

True to his merit as a silent participant, Snare didn’t make a sound as he entered Maximus’ cell. The heat of the room came like a punch to the gut, at the same time serving as a bitter reminder of the depths of cruelty. Garrus-9 was a cold place, to be expected of a military structure. This was a deliberate act to rob Maximus of any shred of comfort he might have been able to take in solitude. As Snare stepped further inside, he was treated to more familiar touches of Overlord’s special brand of manipulation; he had grown accustomed to the blinking light of a camera hanging constantly near Maximus’ head, a reminder and threat wrapped into one small, humiliating package.

Maximus didn’t seem to bother acknowledging Snare, even as the others’ presence became impossible not to notice. Snare didn’t blame him. If this were up to Snare, he’d be as far away from here as he could possibly manage to be...and, regardless of how he felt about the other mech, he wouldn’t object to taking Maximus along with him.

Greyed optics stared blankly at the ceiling as Snare scrubbed grime from his chassis. It was a degrading act for the both of them- albeit, it was obvious who the act mostly affected. Maximus’ lips quivered like he was on the verge of tears, but Snare knew him better by now. Behind his own face mask, Snare found himself making the same expression- one that he doubted could ever convey enough of the barely concealed hatred that he held so close to his spark, now. And, in speaking of sparks…

Maximus winced under Snare as the latter’s filthy rag scraped rust from a shredded piece of chest plating. Snare repeated the action. Another wince, cut with a slight whimper this time. Snare wasn’t heartless- he knew when to stop.

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t expect an immediate response. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have responded at all if he were in the same situation. Maximus shut and offlined his optics, lips pouting deeper in what Snare recognized as barely concealed vitriol. Whatever was bothering him, it wouldn’t bode well for Snare to return having not checked for a cause.

Contempt emanated from both of their frames as Snare dropped his rag, feeling the sides of Maximus’ chest for any life-threatening injuries. He winced more and even groaned as Snare was forced to prod at him, though he still kept quiet about the cause of his injuries. At one point, Snare gave him the distinct offer to speak up- an exchanged look, directly into each others’ optics, all but saying aloud ‘you can make this stop now’. Again, Snare couldn’t blame him for staying quiet; it just made things a hell of a lot harder.

“Fortress Maximus.”

The words hung in the air like a threat. The corners of Maximus’ lips twitched downwards in an expression of disgust.

“Stop. Touching. Me.”

Oh, that was it.

“Do you think that I _want_ to be doing this? I could be ripping your teeth out of your skull-” (But I won’t do that, because I don’t want to.) “Or I could be out there with Stalker, tearing apart more of your guards-” (But I won’t do that, either, because for the first time in my life, I’m being made sick by violence.) “But I’m stuck _cleaning up the mess_ whenever someone forgets the meaning of ‘beating a dead horse’!”

In an abrupt move, Snare slammed both hands with the intention of hitting the circuit slab.  Near Maximus’ chest; apparently, he misjudged. The scream that tore through the room bore Maximus’ teeth and set him thrashing against his restraints, and all his thrashing seemed to be good for was agitating whatever injury he had sustained. Snare hurried despite himself to calm the hysterical mech before him, and in the process, he seemed to find the answer to their ‘mystery’. Snare stood, speechlessly staring at Maximus as he waited for his pain to subside before he spoke again:

“I’m sorry that happened, and-” Maximus cut Snare off with a choked response something along the lines of ‘go fuck yourself’. More or less. “Yeah, ok, but- I need you to cooperate, just for a second, just- you just need to tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to something.”

There was no verbal response from the other mech, just the slight quivering of Maximus’ lip that may very well have been restraining tears, this time. Snare’s hands glided just over Maximus’ body as he avoided actually touching him, until they hovered roughly over the spot that he had accidentally hit. He was abnormally warm, in a way that Snare was quick to dismiss as being caused by the room- but, depending on Maximus’ answer, they’d see just how truthful that was.

“Has Overlord been using you?” The words came out choked, but Snare didn’t dare repeat himself nor start again as he spoke. No matter how bad his wording may have been, the intent still seemed to be there; Maximus blanched, staring at Snare with mingled pain and horror.

Maximus wasted no time in mouthing ‘yes’. Now, it was Snare’s turn to blanch and stare at the other mech in horror. The abnormal heat and excessive pain in areas of the chest where there was no injury severe enough to warrant it were dead enough giveaways without the final confirmation, but nonetheless, Snare couldn’t be sure if he didn’t ask.

“Does he know about this?” Snare gestured at the other’s chest. When Maximus didn’t respond, another thought dawned on the small jet. “Do...you know about this?”

“Am I…?

Both mechs were getting tired of staring, but they didn’t stop. There wasn’t much else they _could_ do, now. It seemed to go unsaid between them that, by whatever circumstances, Maximus was sparked. In the early stages, it was easy to miss; especially if you were so focused on pre existing medical problems that the only method of self occupation you had left was losing effectiveness by the hour. When Snare didn’t speak up again, Maximus took the chance to elaborate on his initially meager replies.

“It might- not be his.”

“I mean...I guessed as much.”

“Right.”

Snare finally averted his optics, and the small shifting noise he heard come the circuit slab seemed to tell him that Maximus had done the same.

“If things keep up like this, they’ll extinguish in a month or two. They shouldn’t make it out of your chest.”

There was a long silence- a brutal, agonizing silence- before Maximus spoke again.

“Please don’t tell him.”

Snare retrieved his cleaning rag, pulling his arms back against his body as he prepared to leave the cell. The surveillance camera in the room didn’t have audio input, but he knew that if he kept this up any longer, he would nonetheless become suspicious. He waited until he had reached the door before he turned again to deliver his final word on the issue: “I won’t.”


	2. Chapter 2

‘Work’ kept Snare away from Maximus far longer than he would have liked. By the time he was permitted to check on Maximus again, the hulking mech’s condition had visibly worsened. The cell was hot as Snare entered, but for once, not purposely; the heat of the room seemed to emanate entirely from Maximus’ frame. Snare made quick work of slipping himself inside, not willing to waste a second.

“You’ve gotten worse.”

Maximus didn’t react, even as Snare pressed a hand against his burning forehelm. His optics had been offlined, but the jagged expression of pain that he wore alongside them led Snare to believe he wasn’t fully asleep. Snare lifted his hand, gently, and fell into one of the first unguarded moments of panic he’d been in at the prison. He could only fear for the worse. That had become something of a defense strategy on its own- to fear the worst, so that he was either pleasantly surprised or right as usual. But Snare’s panic, any shred of disapproval or noncompliance he held within him, was always carefully hidden as best as he could. Even during the initial ‘scare’ moment when he realized the details of Maximus’ condition hadn’t been entirely unguarded, but it seemed that his Autobot charge was determined to find new ways to test him every day.

Snare frantically tilted Maximus’s helm, trying to rouse him without causing further pain. “Come on. Come on, Fortress. Don’t-” Abruptly, but still slow enough to raise concern, other mech’s optics onlined. The light within them was still considerably dim as Snare set Fort Max’s helm down gently.

“I know,” Maximus’ response was barely audible, but still, Snare flinched at the hoarseness of his voice. “I know.” 

He seemed reluctant to focus completely on Snare- or, rather, incapable of it. Snare may not have been a doctor, but it wasn’t hard to see that Maximus was ill; Snare could only assume that he was delirious with fever, or close to it. Snare took a step back, but Maximus didn’t lift his gaze. The cell was filthy. Even if there wasn’t essentially a parasite eating at Maximus from within- one that could only get bigger and more dangerous as it grew, if it didn’t kill him before then- the level of grime in the cramped room was enough to make any mech sick after a while.

Snare knew he couldn’t clean it. Overlord never cleaned up after his torture sessions, save for putting away tools on their appropriate hooks and jaunting off. He would notice if there were suddenly weeks of filth missing from the cell. At the same time, Snare knew that simply cleaning out Fort Max’s vents every few weeks couldn’t cut it anymore.

“Fortress, look at me. Look at me.”

Maximus’ optics slid upwards slightly, his mouth flattening into a line. Snare cupped his helm, shifting himself down slightly so that they were at optic-level. The heat coming off of Maximus’s frame was beginning to grow uncomfortable.

“I can- I can try to get you antivirals. I can’t clean you up today, I’m sorry Fortress, I really am- just, please understand that I’m here for you. Soon,” Soon what? Snare blanked. “Soon you won’t be sick anymore.”

The thin line of Maximus’s mouth deepened. “Why can’t you do something?”

“I can. I’ll get you medicine, alright? Then you won’t be sick.” Snare attempted to smile behind his mask, but his mouth didn’t move. Maximus’ arms twitched at his sides, and his voice went breathy as he spoke again,

“Don’t leave me here. Please. Please, you don’t-” Snare leaned closer to allow Maximus the comfort of grabbing something, as unsteady as his hold may have been. Maximus started to babble. “You’ve seen him, please, I can’t be here, please, they’re- they’re sick, Snare, not just me anymore, they’re-”

“Who’s sick?” Snare knew that Maximus was far from being in his right mind, but he couldn’t overlook the terrified string of words. Maximus seemed to relax- or sink down defeatedly. Snare couldn’t tell. He offlined his optics and gestured weakly at his chest, all while still gripping Snare with his other hand. This time, it was the smaller mech’s turn to whisper.

“We knew that.”

“They’re...draining me. I can feel it. They’re hurt.”

“We knew that they wouldn’t live.”

“They  _ want _ to live.”

Snare had to step back. Maximus seemed to notice, as the warden slowly onlined his optics without truly focusing them. Maximus’ lips parted before he spoke, leaving the two of them to briefly stare at one another in pained silence.

“If it’s me or them, choose them.”

“Fortress-”

As quickly as it had come, Maximus’ sense of clarity left him. As barely-lit optics slipped back into darkness, and the hand that gripped Snare lost the meager strength it had contained, Snare’s tanks churned. Maximus’ worsening condition was enough to make him sick, but that wasn’t what made him ill; rather, there was one lingering thought in Snare’s mind as he watched Maximus fade into unconsciousness, one that burnt the tubing of his throat as he thought of ever voicing it.

Snare lowered Maximus’ arm to the berth, taking care to cover any obvious signs that the jet had touched it. Snare stepped out as quickly as he’d entered, and in hardly any time at all, he had fully integrated himself back into his fabricated apathy. The thought he’d been forced to let go of eventually faded, but not before it had etched itself into his memory banks. Then that thought- that maybe, it wasn’t Maximus’ choice anyways- would just be another gauge in his mental armor.


	3. Chapter 3

“Max?”

Long weeks of activity led into long months, as Snare felt himself pulled further away from Maximus each day. Overlord didn’t seem set on what exactly his role at Garrus-9 was, but Snare never had the time to discover it for himself. He wasn’t sure if he even cared anymore. Weeks of working with Stalker, of repetitive tortures that just reminded him of his past failings, seemed to act as some kind of cruel mockery of himself. He wasn’t sure what it could have been punishment for, but that was exactly what it felt like.

When he finally found a free moment to himself, Snare wasted no time in making it about anyone _but_ himself. He had wasted enough time leaving Maximus alone with his injuries, with the threat of Overlord possibly discovering his “illness”- and what that “illness” meant- looming over Snare’s head all the while. Fertility was a rare trait among the new era of Cybertronians- it could have been the same way with the old era, too, but Snare wasn’t around long enough to be an accurate judge. Snare didn’t want to dwell on the possibility of Overlord discovering such a trait in Maximus- much less, what it could mean for them both if Overlord chose to exploit it.

It took a moment of careful scrutiny to see that Maximus’ optics weren’t offline- just incredibly, incredibly dim. His internal fans sputtered on and off noisily, occasionally whining or clicking as they hit a snag. An open head wound spilled energon into the puddle already formed from his abused mouth. Snare thought, vaguely, that if he had ever imagined this could happen, he never would have come here. He never would have agreed to raid Garrus-9- or maybe he would have, just to kill Overlord himself before this could happen. He didn’t dwell on the improbability of that statement.

Snare carefully avoided Maximus’ obvious injuries as he stroked the other mech’s cheek. This was for the best, he told himself. This was something he should have done a long time ago.

He felt coolant clouding his optics as he reached into his own subspace, brandishing the tool he’d snagged from Stalker. It was a bitter feeling. He wanted nothing else but to do this quickly, while Maximus was apparently still unresponsive, but apparently Garrus-9 was determined to impede him once again. He forced himself to continue despite himself. If this place claimed just one more life, Snare was determined that it wasn’t going to be Maximus’.

Maximus’ chest slid open with ease, the latch long worn off from months of physical assault; Snare thanked whatever cruel force ruling over them that Overlord at least hadn’t decided to open Maximus up before now. In a better situation, Snare would have greeted the sparks that awaited him there. He would have congratulated them on being such great little fighters. He would have cooed at them and told them that they’d be born strong. Snare stroked Maximus’ cheek again.

Illness was evident in the way that the sparks moved. They had managed to grow large enough to slow naturally, but the sluggishness in how they pulsed was unmistakeable. They would never be able to power even the smallest of minibots, if they survived the transfer to Maximus’ lower abdomen. Overlord would notice them, then, and there was no way of telling what manner of cruelty he’d subject them to. There would never be any way of telling.

One tiny spark pulsed weakly in Snare’s palm, even as he dug Stalker’s tool into its core. It ‘bled’ energy into his hand from frayed strips of plasma, and Snare realized that he’d have to take a different approach to this. Coolant obscured his vision, but he didn’t want to see what he was doing, anyways. Snare set the tool on the table, grabbing the tiny spark with both hands and wrenching it from Maximus’ body. Blue plasma dripped into the opened chest cavity before Snare lifted it for inspection.

Maximus flinched.

Terror cut through Snare like a sword, and the rapidly fading spark was abandoned to the floor in his haste to comfort Maximus. It only took a few seconds, however, to see that the larger mech was still largely unresponsive. Snare didn’t let himself dwell on it- he knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to continue.

In a slightly more polished attempt than the last, Snare ripped another spark from Maximus’ body. There wasn’t nearly as much mess, but again, Maximus flinched. His lips twisted slightly in a small show of pain, but he still remained entirely still otherwise. Snare discarded the diseased spark and moved to finish the task.

His hands shook as he reached into Maximus’ open chest cavity, both with hesitation and anticipation. Snare took to reminding himself of the benefits as he rooted around blindly, offlined optics dripping coolant freely. _Maximus would have a chance to recover_ . Snare grasped the spark. _Overlord wouldn’t know that he was fertile_ . Snare pulled. _Maximus would be safer_. Snare pitched backwards, nearly losing his balance before he tossed the spark to the floor.

The discarded sparks would extinguish themselves soon enough, and any traces of them within Maximus’ body would- hopefully, that is- disappear with them. Snare wiped coolant from his optics to get a better look at his companion. His mouth twisted in a harsh line, opened just wide enough for Snare to catch a glimpse of cracked and still-bleeding teeth. His chest heaved as Snare closed it again, though whether it was a movement of pain or of sickness, Snare couldn’t tell. The two were indiscernible, now.

Snare’s voice barely constituted a whisper as he spoke, sidling up against Maximus’ warm frame as he did so to offer what support he could.

“It’s alright. You’re ok. You’ll be alright.”

He wasn’t sure how much truth there really was in that statement. He wasn’t sure if, by the end of this, his own spark would be extinguished like those within Maximus. He wasn’t really sure if this would ever end.

Maximus’s mouth twitched, prompting fresh energon to bubble at the corner of his mouth. Snare brought a hand to his helm as he shifted on the berth. It was the most comfort that he had to offer, now.

“We’ve just got one more, ok?”

As predicted, Maximus offered no response of his own. Snare’s hands traced the outline of his chest cavity before he remembered his task and sunk back in, wrist-deep in unnatural, pulsating plasma. He could barely find the last spark, even with his optics fully opened again and searching for it. The tiny, green mass was, quite frankly, a bit pathetic- though that felt cruel to think. Their lives were robbed from them long before Snare had even thought of removing them. That was more noble than anything Snare could have managed, himself.

The final spark was removed without hassle, dumped on the floor in the quickly (and, Primus be praised, thankfully) evaporating puddle of plasma. Snare scooped out handfuls of leftover, still-pulsating semi-liquid from Maximus’ chest, already feeling it begin to lose substance without anything to power or be powered by. Maximus’ own spark beat on with a sickly glow not unlike those that Snare had removed.

His body had less to power with his limbs removed- hopefully that meant something. Hopefully.

Snare’s hands itched and burned as he stroked Maximus’ face again, the evaporating plasma creating an odd feeling as the sentio metallico disappeared. It wasn’t a feeling that Snare could ever hope to describe- and really, not one that he wanted to. Maximus’ optics faded offline to show them as the chipped, sickly panes of red glass that they were. Snare patted the edge of Maximus’ shoulder, above where wires began to stick out from the stump of his missing limb.

He doubted that any comfort he gave would be well received, now, but it was all he could do to slip back out of the cell and pray he wouldn’t have to repeat this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (on an actual note: 2014 words over the requested amount! wow. hope you like it, grey! or at least, i hope i made you cry.)


End file.
